


Constant Company

by kay_obsessive



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, F/M, Past Corvo Attano/Jessamine Kaldwin, Pre-Canon, Royal Protector Daud (Dishonored)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-04-26 16:52:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14406378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_obsessive/pseuds/kay_obsessive
Summary: Jessamine stepped forward, reaching out to place a hand on one of the cold, metal bars of his prison cell. “How could I possibly come to trust you?”“You can’t,” Daud answered bluntly. “In your position, Empress of the Isles, you shouldn’t trust anyone, not if you want to stay alive.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees as he looked her in the eye. “But when I’m hired for a job, I do it well.”When an accident takes Corvo from her side, Jessamine must choose a new Royal Protector, and she's presented with an unconventional candidate for the position.





	1. Chapter 1

Corvo Attano’s funeral was near as grand as any emperor’s. A procession of guards and carriages took him through the city to his final resting place, and crowds of people lined the streets to say their farewells.

Jessamine led the proceedings well, making her appearance and addressing the public with all the grace required of her, keeping her head held high.

Grief was a dagger in her heart, but she knew that an empress could only mourn quietly, privately. There would be murmurs among those at court no matter how she reacted, old rumors given new life and whispered back and forth once again, but she had learned how best to manage them by now. The depth of her sorrow, like the depth of her affection, would be kept close to her heart.

The one thing she could not ignore, amongst all the other talk and gossip, was the speculation on who would take Corvo’s place as her Protector. There was pressure to choose quickly, a pressure she understood, no matter how the thought made her ache. There was a reason the selection process took so long and began so early. A rushed decision would be difficult even without the impossibility of replacing Corvo.

Her father’s Royal Protector, the fiercely intimidating Lady Adelia, had emerged from retirement to fill the role in the intervening days and weeks. Jessamine had been frightened of her as a child, but her familiar presence now was an incredible comfort, though she knew it could not be a permanent solution. Adelia was an old woman now, and though age may not have dulled her instincts any, it had certainly dulled her reflexes. Even a reputation as impressive as hers – after several assassination attempts, it had been illness that eventually took Euhorn Kaldwin, something not even the finest Royal Protector stood a chance of defeating – could only go so far in deterring an attack.

Jessamine’s advisors and courtiers were already beginning to put forth their favored candidates.

She remembered all too well what it had been like the first time, noble families pushing their well-bred sons and daughters with their well-pressed uniforms and their gleaming, well-polished medals and pins. And then there had been Corvo, quiet and modest and with no one to vouch for him, nothing to recommend him but the incredible skill that had sent him to the Tower in the first place.

No one had much liked her choice back then. She wondered how they would criticize her decision this time.

* * *

“Your Majesty, if I could have a brief moment of your time?”

Jessamine did her best to keep the frown from her face as she turned around, though it was her natural inclination when conversing with Hiram Burrows. It wasn’t that she particularly disliked the man – he’d been at the Tower since her father’s day, and she never had any complaints about the work he did – but she often found him challenging to deal with. They fundamentally disagreed on a great many issues, and she didn’t care for the overly patient and patronizing tone he often took on when attempting to change her mind.

“Of course.” She fixed herself with a carefully blank expression and nodded. “What is it you need?”

“It’s more on the subject of what _you_ need,” he said, and his tone and slow smile already had her slipping back into a frown. “I have… something of an unconventional suggestion for replacing your late Royal Protector.”

That surprised her. Burrows had opinions on nearly everyone and shared them freely, but he hadn’t recommended any candidates last time, and she wasn’t expecting that to change. She nodded again, slowly. “You know I always welcome your advice. I’m happy to meet with whoever you have in mind.”

Burrows smiled again and gave a short bow. He gestured to the guard at the door, who turned swiftly to pull it open.

A man was led into the room, one nervous-looking guard in front of him and another following close after. He was in a rough state, his dark hair disheveled, his clothes dirty and torn and stained with blood. There was fresh bruising visible around his head and neck, but the long scar over his eye looked much older. 

Jessamine recognized him immediately, a face she’d seen etched out in careful portrait from meetings with the head of her Guard, from criminal posters presented for her approval and hung up throughout the city. She drew herself up, forcing down a flutter of fear in her heart, and shot a displeased look toward the Spymaster. “Why have you brought this man here?”

“I did say it was an unconventional idea.” His smile grew wider. He was entertained by her discomfort.

She pinned him with a steady, unamused gaze, but the smile failed to disappear. “Then I’m sure you’re prepared to explain your reasoning,” she prompted.

“Yes, of course,” he said, clearing his throat. He straightened up and linked his hands behind his back. “There are two important things to consider when choosing a Royal Protector: their physical skill, obviously, but also their political value. Unfortunately, I don’t believe we can count on gaining any political value this time. I’m sure some families would still be honored to have their candidate chosen, but others may take offense to coming second to such an… unusual choice as Corvo. He did a fine job, of course, but you know how delicate certain members of your court can be. It would be best to simply choose the most skilled fighter, one who can best defend you in these uncertain times.”

Jessamine kept her face neutral, though her nails dug into her palms and anger burned in her heart, at the audacity of Burrows’ suggestion, at the flippant way he spoke of Corvo, at how she knew, with uncomfortable certainty, that he was right about the politics of the situation. She crossed her arms, letting her nails dig into her sleeves instead. “So, you recommend to me Dunwall’s most notorious killer? A man whose blade can be so easily bought and sold?”

“I understand your misgivings,” he said, raising a placating hand, “but I have very good reason to believe he will cooperate fully. Related to some of my ongoing work, I’m afraid, so I can’t divulge too much detail, but I’m quite certain he can be trusted for this.”

She turned her attention doubtfully to the man in question. Daud, the Knife of Dunwall, the assassin her very best people had been hunting unsuccessfully for years. She wondered what had finally led to his capture and what could possibly have Burrows so convinced that his loyalty could be secured.

Daud met her stare easily and held it, a deep scowl creasing his face, and she shuddered and looked away.

“As always, I will take your advice into consideration,” she said, turning back to Burrows. “For now, I would ask you to remove this man from the Tower and leave me to think.”

“Very well, Your Majesty. I do hope you come to a decision soon. I know it makes many of us uneasy to think of you improperly protected for so long.” He gave another short bow and led the way out of the room.

Jessamine sighed into the sudden quiet, letting herself relax, the aching tension in her shoulders easing a little with the unwelcome company gone. “What could he possibly be thinking?” she muttered to herself.

“I’m sure Burrows has his own reasons, as he always does, but I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss his idea.”

Jessamine shot a puzzled frown over her shoulder to where Adelia was leaning against the wall, looking thoughtful. “You believe the assassin is trustworthy?”

“No,” she said with a quick shake of her head. “I believe he’s a killer at heart, nothing more. But that may be what you need right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“People thought Corvo unbeatable and you untouchable because of that. Now that he’s gone and that’s been proved untrue, someone looking to strike at you will see whoever replaces him as an easier opponent.” She paused and gave a shrug. “It might not be a terrible idea to give Corvo’s title to the only man on the Isles who might’ve been able to best him.”

“Then he would be your recommendation?”

“This is a decision only you can make. You didn’t follow anyone else’s guidance the first time, and I wouldn’t expect you to start now. My recommendation is that you consider every option carefully.”

Adelia was right that Burrows always had his own reasons for his actions. Jessamine rarely knew what they were, but she trusted him to have the Empire’s best interests at heart, even when they disagreed on how best to get there. If he had reason to believe such a man could be trusted with this, then she did as well, and that made him as valid as any other candidate.

Jessamine closed her eyes and considered.

* * *

There were a few prison cells located in the old dungeons beneath Dunwall Tower. They were relics of bygone days, now used mostly for storage and to hold the occasional unruly noble who had indulged too much during a state dinner and had to be contained until they could be poured into their coach and taken home. Jessamine doubted if these walls had ever held anyone as dangerous as the Knife of Dunwall, even during the peak of the Morley Insurrection.

She approached the only occupied cell warily, though the heavy iron door was securely locked and guarded by three men. There was also, separate from the guard detail, an Overseer standing nearby, turning a crank to play some strange, unsettling music from the device strapped to his chest. She wondered if this was meant to be some form or torture or interrogation. The eerie sound made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, and it certainly seemed to be giving their prisoner a headache, at the very least.

“Enough of that,” she said, waving a hand toward the Overseer.

The turning of the crank slowed but did not stop, warping the already twisted tune. The Overseer protested hesitantly, “I’ve been directed to continue – ”

“And your Empress is directing you to stop. Does that order not supersede your previous commands?”

His hand stilled, and he backed away, bowing as deeply as he could manage around the music device.

“Thank you,” Jessamine said briskly. She waved the remaining guards to either side as she came to stand directly in front of the cell. “Daud.”

He was already looking up at her, meeting her eye steadily and without hesitation. He had a hand pressed to his temple, massaging out the ache from the strange music, and he wore the same scowl as when they had met earlier. “Your Majesty,” he said drily.

There was an impressive dignity to him for a man in a cage. He showed no sign of fear, only contempt and irritation, as though his captivity and her presence here were both mild inconveniences. Jessamine crossed her arms and lifted her chin, drawing herself up to her full regal posture to address him. “You’re one of the worst criminals Dunwall has ever seen. The Watch and the Overseers have both been hunting you for years. I doubt you have any great love or loyalty for the Crown.”

The corner of his mouth twisted up in grim amusement. “No.”

“And yet my Spymaster has recommended you for the job of protecting me. He believes you can be trusted to cooperate. Why is that?”

Daud leaned back, resting his head against the rough stone of his cell wall. “My home was ambushed,” he told her, “most of my Whalers killed, and the few survivors imprisoned. I can’t reclaim what I once had, and your Spymaster believes I’ll see this as a better alternative to execution or a life spent in hiding.”

“And is he correct?”

“I’m very aware of my circumstances right now.”

Jessamine stared. If it was an answer at all, it was a vague one, and they both knew it. She sighed and shook her head, letting the stiff set of her shoulders droop. She stepped forward, reaching out to place a hand on one of the cold, metal bars of his prison cell. “How could I possibly come to trust you?” she asked, her voice soft.

“You can’t,” he answered bluntly. “In your position, Empress of the Isles, you shouldn’t trust anyone, not if you want to stay alive.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees as he looked her in the eye. “But when I’m hired for a job, I do it well.”

She continued to hold the stare for several long, searching moments, but in the end, she was the first to turn away. She gestured for one of the guards to approach. “Go and relay a message to the Royal Spymaster and the Head of the Guard. Tell them I’ve made my decision.”


	2. Chapter 2

The changeover did not happen immediately, and Jessamine did not see her newly chosen Royal Protector again for several days after she climbed that long, winding staircase back into the Tower.

There was training, she remembered from what both Corvo and Adelia had told her, careful training and education for the one selected for such an important role. Apparently it had been particularly extensive for Corvo, who was still new to Dunwall, new to _Gristol_ , even, when she had sprung the unlikely decision on him. As far as she understood, Daud had been living in her city for quite some time, but she expected there would still be something of a cultural difference from what he had known.

And so the days continued in much the same way they had been, with Jessamine rising each morning and leaving her chambers to find Adelia waiting, ready to follow and guard her through the day’s tasks. It gave Jessamine more time than she cared to have to wonder and fret at her own decision, still unsure if she was choosing wisely, and just as much time to hear the fresh set of whispers begin to work their way through her court.

Then came the morning when she opened her door and found Daud instead, waiting where Adelia always stood.

Her staff had not, Jessamine was immensely relieved to see, dressed him in anything like Corvo’s official attire. They had instead tailored an officer’s uniform to him, with cording at the shoulders to indicate an elevated rank and a patch with the symbol of the Royal Protector sewn in on the chest. He was clean and clean-shaven now, and the bruising around his face had mostly faded, making him look very nearly respectable.

Except that he had his sword drawn and was fussing with it in way that clearly made the nearby servants uneasy. She watched as he shifted it from hand to hand, adjusted his grip several times on the hilt, gave a few experimental swings, and then let the blade rest on two fingers to test the balance. He wore a deep, dour frown through the entire ordeal.

“Is there something wrong with your sword?” Jessamine asked as she approached.

He looked up at her and shrugged. “It’ll do.”

“I understand you and your people liked to use old whaling blades stolen from the factories. Surely this is of a better quality?”

“It’s certainly prettier.” He sighed and sheathed the sword with an easy, fluid motion. “So, I believe I’m meant to follow wherever you go? Stop anyone trying to kill you?”

Corvo had always been so much more than that, a companion and confidant even before she came to love him so dearly. She swallowed back the sudden ripple of grief and nodded. “That is your main duty, yes. The Royal Protector has a few ceremonial roles as well, but that won’t come up for some time. For now, sir…” She paused, tilting her head curiously. “It’s just Daud, is it? Nothing else?”

“No.”

“You don’t have a family name?”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other in a way that might have indicated discomfort with the topic or possibly just boredom; she wasn’t sure which. “My mother wasn’t native to the Empire,” he explained, “and whatever name my father had, she chose not to burden me with it.”

Jessamine crossed her arms, regarding him with a frown, but his stoic expression failed to reveal anything more to her. “Lord Daud, then,” she decided.

He grimaced, and she hid a smirk.

“That’s the title that goes with the position, I’m afraid, so you’ll have to suffer through it.”

He gave a wordless grunt which she chose to take as assent.

“For now, Lord Daud, you can come this way. There’s someone else you must meet today.”

She walked past him, and he fell into step with her easily, just behind and to the right.

* * *

“Mother!”

Jessamine grinned and bent down to catch Emily as she jumped up from the table and darted forward to throw her little arms around her neck. “Hello, my dear. Are we learning anything exciting today?”

Emily gave a dramatic sigh. “No, just boring stuff,” she said. “Miss Jepson promises there will be ship battles in the history lesson, though!”

“My, won’t that be fun! Make sure you listen well, even to the boring stuff.”

She giggled. “Yes, Mother.”

Jessamine smiled, taking her daughter’s hands and giving them a light squeeze. Corvo’s death had devastated Emily, and it was a relief to see her so able to laugh and smile despite everything, though Jessamine still heard her crying sometimes at night when the lights were out. “Well, I won’t stop you for long, but I need to introduce you to someone.” She stood, keeping hold of one of Emily’s hands, and turned her head. “This is Lord Daud, the new Royal Protector.”

Emily’s other hand came up to grasp Jessmine’s sleeve as she looked over and warily eyed Daud. “Is he supposed to be Corvo now?” she asked, shooting a concerned look up at Jessamine.

“Oh, my darling. No, of course not,” she said, gently brushing Emily’s hair from her face. “No one could ever replace Corvo. But someone must do the job he did, and that is why Lord Daud is here. Now, show me your best manners and say hello.”

With this reassurance, Emily let go of Jessamine’s hand and stepped forward. She laced her fingers, gave a short half-bow, and said, in her most proper tone, “Good morning, Lord Daud.”

Daud dipped his head politely in return, though it was nowhere near the full bow that was expected when greeting the heir to the throne. Jessamine suspected she would rarely get more than just passably proper out of him, but she supposed that wasn’t really the point of his role here. “Your Highness,” he said, and it almost sounded sincere.

Emily gave a tentative smile, always ready to make a new friend, no matter how unusual, and Jessamine patted her shoulder. “Go back to your studies, now. I’ll come and see you again later.”

Another sigh. “Yes, Mother.” And she trotted back to her patiently waiting tutor.

Daud watched her go with a contemplative look, head tilted slightly to one side. “Interesting,” he murmured once she was far out of earshot.

Jessamine frowned, wary of his tone. “What?”

“I’d never seen her up close before – I doubt many people have – and I’d guess the portraits go out of their way to hide the resemblance.” He turned that contemplative look suddenly on Jessamine. “She really does look like your former bodyguard.”

Jessamine jerked her head back, shooting a frantic glance around the room to make sure Emily couldn’t manage to overhear. “I beg your pardon?” she demanded.

“You can’t possibly be so unaware of the talk in your own court. I heard those rumors long before ever coming here,” he said, looking unimpressed by her outrage. He turned his head and nodded in Emily’s direction. “Does she know?”

Her jaw ached from the angry clench of her teeth, and she forced herself to relax. There was nothing to be gained by denial. The worst Daud could do was add to all the talk, nothing more than another drop in that deep, black lake. “No, and I don’t intend her to know for some time. Emily has more than enough expectations on her head as it is; I won’t have her keeping this secret and believing it’s something to be ashamed of. She’ll be told when she’s older.”

“Sensible.”

She narrowed her eyes, unable to decide if the reply was serious or mocking. Then she dismissed it with a shake of her head; it didn’t matter. She stepped forward, gesturing to where Emily sat. “Listen now,” she said firmly. “Emily has her own guards, but whenever she is with me, her safety becomes your top concern, even over mine. They’ll have told you differently when explaining your duties, but it’s my word you follow, not anyone else’s. Is that understood?”

“It always ends poorly when a child ascends the throne,” Daud said, his tone more thoughtful than argumentative. “It makes some sense to try and avoid that.”

“Do your job well, and it will never be a concern,” she answered sharply. She turned to watch Emily at her lessons, chin propped in her hands, feet swinging beneath her too-tall chair, somehow still so carefree despite the world she lived in. Softly, she repeated, “Is that understood?”

Daud held her again with that steady, inscrutable stare, but this time she managed to meet it until he turned away with a dismissive sound. “It’s understood.”

Satisfied, Jessamine nodded and headed for the door. “Come. I have duties to attend to, and that means you do as well.”

* * *

The day continued to its end without incident, talks with advisors, a brief Parliament meeting, and an open session to hear citizen complaints and concerns all occurring peacefully. If not for the puzzled and occasionally terrified glances of the people she spoke with, Jessamine could almost have forgotten the presence of her new Royal Protector.

He was much quieter than Adelia, who freely shared advice and sometimes actively joined in on Jessamine’s conversations, though he was not quite at reticent as Corvo had been. She had barely heard Corvo at all during his first year in Dunwall, and even after they grew close, he preferred to give voice to his thoughts only when they were alone.

Daud followed her with silent footsteps and said nothing more throughout the day, but his opinions on a few matters were quite clear to her, quiet scoffs reaching her ears as she danced carefully through the politics of her empire.

It was at once grating and amusing, and she spent much of her time deciding whether or not to order him to stop instead of listening attentively to the important discussions happening around her. In the end, she said nothing and felt quite a bit more exhausted by her divided attentions than the day’s events warranted. She made her excuses to the lingering members of her court and climbed the stairs to the upper floors of Dunwall Tower, eager to see her bed.

“Has anyone shown you your chambers yet, Lord Daud?” Jessamine asked, smothering a yawn and stopping to glance over her shoulder as they drew closer to her own rooms.

Daud shook his head. “No. I’ve been staying in the guard quarters.”

“Well, they’re quite nearby. I’ll show you before I retire for the night.”

“And who takes up your watch then?”

Jessamine, already turning to indicate the door in question, stopped short to frown back at him. “I’m sorry?”

He had a hand resting on the hilt of his sword, fingers slightly tensed, and his eyes roved the space they stood in, taking in the long hallways and their many doors and windows. “I suppose it wasn’t a problem when your bodyguard shared your rooms, but who’s meant to be on watch while you sleep?”

Her frown deepened, and she wondered if she had opened herself to frequently hearing such comments by confirming the rumors to him. “It wasn’t a problem even before,” she answered calmly. “There is no place in the Isles more secure than Dunwall Tower and no floor as well-guarded as this one. Even at the height of war and rebellion, no would-be assassin has ever breached this far.”

“I have.”

Her brow furrowed. “You…” she began, unsure if she had understood his meaning correctly.

“There was a guest of yours staying here, a visiting diplomat from Tyvia. Someone wanted him taken alive, and they paid well for it. It was a clean job, no blood or bodies left behind, and we were gone before the sun rose.” He paused, gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I admit I never tried to reach your rooms, so maybe you’re right and they are as secure as you believe. But I wouldn’t depend on just your high walls to protect you.”

A chill ran through her body, ice in her veins. She remembered very clearly what he spoke of. It had been a minor political incident, since the diplomat was last seen in Dunwall Tower, but when the Tyvian government received the ransom demands, it was considered an internal affair, and any blame placed on Gristol was swiftly dropped. It had all been handled quietly, few details released to the public.

He could still be lying about how it was done, she told herself. The diplomat could have gotten restless and taken to the gardens for the night air, been abducted from the grounds instead. 

But, she remembered, the lock on his door had been secured when they found him missing.

Jessamine forced down her fear, forced herself to remain calm and unruffled as she pointed to the door on her left and said, “Well, as I said, the Royal Protector’s chambers are quite near my own, so I’m sure I can trust you to hear if anything is amiss.”

“I’m sure,” Daud repeated, though his tone was doubtful, almost mocking. He turned to face the door she had indicated.

Dark curiosity gnawed at her mind, demanding attention. She imagined Daud, not as he stood now, submitting however unhappily to her command, but at the height of his power, the height of his great terror inflicted on her city. She imagined him silently treading these corridors, blade drawn, while she slept so near, unaware of the death lingering outside her door. “Were you ever hired to try and kill me?” she asked suddenly, almost against her will.

A strange smile twisted his mouth. “No one could afford your price.”

“And if someone had?” Her throat felt dry, and she swallowed hard. “Would you have done it?”

“I suppose we can’t know now.” He dipped his head in her direction, reaching out to grab the curved handle of his door and push it open. “Good night, Empress.”

She watched as he disappeared into the darkened room, leaving her alone in the corridor. Jessamine had grown up in the Tower, every inch of it familiar to her, and she had never once felt unsafe within its walls. Now the long, empty hallways seemed twisting and threatening, every shadowed corner an unknown.

Jessamine shook herself from head to toe and forced her feet to make the last few steps toward her chambers. She knew sleep would not come easy tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

As the days and weeks passed, Jessamine grew, if not quite comfortable with, then at least accustomed to Daud’s constant presence.

He really was almost as quiet as Corvo, but there was a different quality to his silence. Not just a watchful awareness – though she knew from the hawk-like sharpness of his eyes that he saw near everything that happened in the Tower – but a low simmering anger and frustration that she could feel constantly radiating off of him, making it impossible for her to ever forget his being there. It was sometimes strangely reassuring, if not at all relaxing.

She could sense him now behind her, standing with his back to the cool stone of Dunwall Tower as he watched over her and Emily taking their midday meal in the private gardens. There was a chill in the air still, but it was the first clear and pleasant day Dunwall had seen in ages, the city slowly shaking off winter for the beginnings of spring. The last lingering patches of snow clinging to the shadows had finally melted away, and the groundskeepers were hard at work in the distance preparing the gardens for planting.

Perhaps she should have expected something awful to happen on so lovely a day.

A messenger wearing a City Watch uniform appeared at the garden gates, and Jessamine frowned in wary anticipation. She had asked not to be bothered during this hour unless something required her urgent attention, and nothing pleasant ever required that from her. Sighing, she rose slowly from her chair. Daud immediately moved to follow her, but she gestured for him to stay, to keep watch over Emily while she alternated taking messy bites of food and filling her drawing pad with colorful figures.

“What’s happened?” Jessamine asked as soon as she was near enough to the messenger to speak without shouting.

The messenger dipped into a hasty bow. “So sorry to interrupt, Your Majesty,” he said, “but there’s been rioting along the northern docks, and my captain was certain you would wish to know about it.”

Her face was a mask, as always, carefully molded to keep her reactions to unpleasant news in check. “Your captain was correct,” she said evenly. “I assume it’s all been contained by now if you’re here to report it. Were there many injuries?”

He nodded. “Yes, plenty between the Watch and the rioters and the crowd on the docks, but not many of them severe. No deaths. Some repairable damage to an Imperial vessel that made port this morning.”

She waved off that last bit of information and crossed her arms, frowning down at the ground for a moment while she thought. An unhappiness seemed to be spreading amongst her people lately, and she wasn’t sure what could be done about it. It was nearly all she could manage just to keep her court in order, and she lived her life in that world every day. She saw so little of the Empire beyond the Tower gates. “Do we have any idea what caused this?” she asked, looking up again.

“It seemed to be some sort of conflict between a few of the dockworkers and the officials onboard the Imperial vessel that got out of hand.”

“I’m sure that’s how it started,” Jessamine said, cutting him off before he could rotely detail the rest of the events. “Do we know what caused it?”

“Um…” The messenger shifted on his feet, eyes darting around uncertainly.

She took a step closer to him, let her face soften and gentled her voice. “Please be honest with me,” she pleaded quietly. “You spend more time than I around the common people of Dunwall. You would know better than me what troubles them, and I can do nothing without understanding.”

He swallowed nervously but nodded. “People are desperate,” he finally told her, giving a slight shrug. “This winter has been harsh, food has been short, and the new taxes and trade regulations being proposed are unpopular. It’s made for an angry city.”

“I see.” She tipped her chin up for a moment, staring at the clouds as they drifted through the blue-grey sky. “Were any arrests made at the docks?”

“Most of the rioters are being detained presently.”

“Have your captain speak with them and find who the loudest voices were. Bring them to the Tower, and I’ll hear their complaints directly. Have the rest released to return to their homes.”

He dropped into another bow. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Jessamine watched him leave, sighing again as she did so. Perhaps this would lead her to some sort of progress. 

She turned around to return to her table and saw that Emily had abandoned her drawing and had edged her chair closer to Daud’s position. She had her hands planted on the table to learn towards him as she chattered on about something, and as Jessamine drew closer, she could hear the tail end to her excited words.

“…told me you’re from Serkonos. Does that mean you knew Corvo? Were you good friends?”

Jessamine bit her lip, unsure whether she wanted to frown or smile at the way Emily’s curiosity so often overrode her etiquette lessons at this age, and hurried forward to interrupt. But to her surprise, she heard a laugh in response, and she found herself slowing down. It was a lighter sound than anything she had ever heard from Daud, despite being just as low and rumbling as his growl of a speaking voice. 

“Do you know everyone in Gristol?” he asked, gently pointed.

Emily’s face scrunched up in a thoughtful frown. “Well, no…”

“Serkonos is bigger than it looks on your maps,” he said. “I’m afraid I never met your friend Corvo, but I’m sure it would have been interesting to know him.”

Jessamine smiled, pleased by the unexpected gentleness of that answer. She stayed where she was for a moment longer, happy to watch as Emily grinned and picked up her drawing pad again, safe under the eyes of her mother’s Royal Protector once more.

There was a crunch of gravel behind her just before it happened, one careless footstep, too late for her to react.

Jessamine caught a glimpse of shadowed movement from the corner of her eye, and then a strong hand grabbed her roughly by the arm and jerked her backward. She stumbled against a solid body behind her, and she felt cool, sharp metal press against her flesh. Sudden panic rose in her chest. It narrowed her focus, made time stretch that first instant of contact, and she thought suddenly, wildly of how near and far a thing death always seemed to be to her.

Jessamine was not wholly unfamiliar with threats to her person. As a young child, she had once been grabbed by a servant hoping to use her to make demands to the Emperor. He hadn’t even made it as far as the nursery door before a guard’s bullet caught his leg and made him lose his hold, and she had barely understood what had happened to her. Years later, there’d been a single attack following her coronation, ended on Corvo’s blade well before any weapon could touch her.

But it was not like her father, who ruled over so divided and angry an empire that he feared near daily threats, the many assassination attempts making him paranoid and strange in his last, sickly days. She knew the dangers that came with her birthright, but she had never felt them quite so intimately before this moment.

As soon as that thought finished forming in her mind, she heard a strangled cry behind her, and the hand and sharp metal both disappeared. She staggered away quickly, then turned to see what had happened.

Daud had crossed the garden with impossible quickness, and he now stood over a young man – younger than she would have thought from the strength of his hold on her – who lay sprawled in the gravel clutching at his leg. His sword was drawn, held to the man’s throat as its blood-coated blade dripped red onto his dirty shirt.

Daud leaned in slowly, shifting his sword so the tip grazed along the man’s face, tracing the twisting lines of ink that snaked their way over his cheek. “Dead Eels tattoos,” he said with a nod. “But I know Lizzy wouldn’t be stupid enough to try something like this. No sense upsetting a world that’s served her so well. So who is it that’s paying you?”

Blood was beginning to seep through fabric, spreading out from beneath the man’s clutching fingers. Through gritted teeth, he said, “Maybe I just wanted to kill the wench.”

The sword pressed back to his throat. “A green fool like you would never even have made it past the front gate without someone helping you.” A drop of blood welled up at the tip of the blade and trickled down the side of his neck. “Who was it who sent you to your death here?”

He strained to pull away, whimpering slightly, but said nothing.

Daud sighed and eased off on the sword, letting it hover again a hair’s breadth away from flesh. “You know this is where your life ends,” he explained calmly. “You’ll be tortured to death in Coldridge. Even if you somehow managed to escape, you’d be paying your price to Lizzy for turning traitor. Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll make it a cleaner kill than either of them would give you.”

“Fuck, all right!” The man had gone pale, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead, fingers shaking where they still held his injured leg. “Called himself Benson. Tall, skinny guy, fair hair like a Morleyan, but dressed way too fancy for the part of town we was in. He called me over and offered me the work. Coin was too good to say no.”

Daud looked up suddenly and caught Jessamine’s eye. “Does that sound like anyone you know, Empress?” he asked.

She startled at being addressed, then frowned as she parsed the question. Did he expect her to know who wished her dead? “No,” she said with a shake of her head. “Not at all.”

He grunted in acknowledgement and turned back to her attacker. “Anything else to tell?” he asked, letting the blade dip down to graze skin again.

The man flinched at the contact. “No, I swear. Only met him once. He gave me half my pay, told me how to get past the gates, and then went on his way.” He swallowed, and Jessamine could see the tip of the blade move with the bobbing of his throat. “I told you what you wanted.”

Daud nodded. He lowered himself to a crouch beside the man, shifting his grip on his sword as he brought it down to angle across the man’s neck, his other hand coming up to grip his shoulder. There he stopped, lifting his head to look again to Jessamine. “Is this what you wish for him?”

In truth, he should be given to the Watch and taken to Coldridge, questioned by the interrogator over such a crime. Jessamine did not wish that fate on anyone, though she understood the necessity of it at times, but she no more wished to sentence a man to death by her own words. “You made an arrangement with him,” she said uncertainly.

“It’s your word I follow, not anyone else’s.”

She closed her eyes. She shouldn’t have expected him to allow her such evasiveness. With a deep breath, she looked back to him. “You’re certain he knows nothing else of value?”

“Can’t ever be certain,” he said, with an oddly careless shrug, “but I don’t believe your interrogator will get any more from him.”

“Then, yes,” Jessamine said firmly. “You may kill him.”

Daud nodded again. His eyes flickered to the side briefly, and he added, quietly, “Your little girl is watching.”

With a flutter of panic, she jerked her head up, looking across the garden to see Emily was still in her chair, staring on with some mix of terror and fascination. Relief overwhelmed the panic at seeing her safe, and Jessamine rushed over to pick her up, holding her tight to her chest.

“Mother, what’s happening?” Emily asked in a quavering voice, her hands gripping tight to the back of Jessamine’s shirt. “Who is that?”

“I don’t know, Emily, but you must go inside now.” Jessamine carried her swiftly to the nearby servants’ entrance, stepping inside and handing her off to the first person she comfortably recognized, a guard who’d served in the Tower for many years. She gave him hasty instructions, then dropped to her knees in front of Emily. “You be good and do as I say, all right? I’ll come and see you soon to explain.”

Emily nodded uneasily, and the guard led her away.

* * *

When Jessamine returned to the gardens, the deed was already done. The body lay in a spreading pool of deep red, and Daud stood nearby, carefully cleaning his blade.

She kept her eyes high to avoid looking too closely at the grisly scene. “Why did you think I might recognize the man he described?” she asked as she drew near.

“Because it was most likely a member of your court testing the new waters.” He nudged the body with the tip of his boot. “Enough coin to tempt away one of Lizzy Stride’s men would buy you a decently skilled assassin in this city, but they sent a river smuggler instead. Whoever it was didn’t expect him to kill you, though I doubt they’d have complained if he did. They wanted to find out how well protected you are after your old bodyguard’s death.”

She supposed Daud would know better than her about the economics of killing. She wasn’t quite as convinced as he seemed to be, but the thought was unnerving enough just as a possibility. “But the man he described was not anyone familiar to me,” she said, keeping her tone steady and even.

“They probably didn’t get their hands dirty making the arrangement in person. The Morleyan could have been a household servant or private guard.” He paused long enough to hold his sword up for inspection, nod in approval, and sheath it with a ringing scrape of metal. “Or our friend here could have been lying about who he saw. But he was paid well enough to take on a task he knew would likely kill him whether he succeeded or not, and there’s not many in this city with that kind of coin to waste on failure. The wealthy may hold the power in Dunwall, but you can’t beat the poor for sheer numbers. Surely you can narrow it down some from there.”

He was watching her expectantly as he spoke, and Jessamine felt irritation welling deep in her chest. What did he want her to do with this information? Hunt through her court until she found someone willing to confess? Run away from the Tower in fear? Did he simply wish to scold her for not knowing exactly who hated her so?

“Even if you’re right,” she began, her voice tight, “and even if the one who hired this man was someone I believed I recognized, there’s nothing that could be done. All I have is a dying man’s word, and I won’t sentence anyone on mere whispers. If your intention is to make sure I know I can’t trust anyone at court any more than I can trust street criminals and men like you, then you needn’t bother. I’ve known that since I was a child.” She stopped herself there, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. There was no sense in snapping like this over an honest warning, though she didn’t care for the tone of it. After all, she struggled to get anyone to speak honestly to her. “Let’s return to the Tower. Somehow I’ve lost my taste for the spring air today.”

His expression had changed, and he was giving her a long, strange look that she didn’t know how to interpret. He nodded wordlessly and turned toward the Tower, keeping his hand on his sword as he began to walk away.

Guilt prickled at the back of her mind as she watched him go. She reached out quickly and put a hand on his arm, and she felt tension beneath her fingertips as he stopped moving. “Thank you,” she said, “for protecting me.”

Daud glanced back over his shoulder and met her eye. “That’s the job,” he said simply.

“Yes, I know. Still, thank you.” She pulled her hand back and let him go.

He held her gaze for a moment longer, then shook his head and continued on his way. 

She did not follow immediately. She turned instead, lingering as she finally let her eyes drop down to look at the body at her feet. The blood had stopped pooling, turning dark and dull now as it seeped into the dirt and gravel. The gardens would have to be closed off and cleaned up quickly, and – a brief glance showed her a handful of workers and guards had already started to gather nearby, drawn by the commotion – she would need to make a statement before rumor overtook the truth of this event.

She forced herself to look into the dead man’s eyes, open and staring endlessly at the dreary sky above. So very young and so willing to die for the promise of coin. There was something truly wrong at the heart of her city.

With a shudder, she hurried to catch up to Daud, following close behind as they headed toward the Tower, closer, probably, than she normally would have.


	4. Chapter 4

Jessamine did not hear the rioters’ complaints until the following morning, after the gardens had been cleaned and the rest of the grounds swept for any other intruders.

They were unhappy with the delay.

Much of the beginning of the meeting was taken up by accusations of wasted time, of the Empress keeping them from their work and their lives without understanding what that meant for them. When the true complaints finally came, they were in courser, angrier language than she was accustomed to hearing.

“…collectors stringing us up by the ankles and bleeding us ‘til we’re dry…”

“…sending everything across the sea while we eat rot and live in filth…”

“…and with the City Watch beating us down at every turn…”

Jessamine marveled at their words, though she kept up a distantly polite mask of interest. The way they spoke was startling, but it was the extent of the complaints that truly baffled her. She had offered regular open sessions for citizen concerns for years now, and she had never heard anything like this.

But then, no one like this had ever come before her to speak. It was not until she saw the true common people of Dunwall in her grand throne room that the reality struck her. Nearly everyone who had come before had been well-dressed and well-spoken: lesser nobles and wealthy merchants, factory owners and leaders of industry, an occasional soldier or sailor, high-ranking and perfectly pressed for the appearance.

These people accused her of not respecting their time, not understanding the reality of their lives. It seemed they were correct.

Jessamine ended the session with a promise to consider their concerns carefully and see what could be done, a vague promise that she knew was not believed by the frustrated men and women leaving the throne room. She watched them with a sigh, letting her chin rest in her hand.

She had a desire to look over her shoulder and seek out a reaction in Daud’s face, see if she could read some judgement or guidance in his frowns and scoffs, but for the first time since he had been assigned, her Royal Protector was not at her side as she worked. The events of the previous day had pulled him away, her Guard and Watch both wishing to hear his telling of what had transpired.

They had replaced him with two of the finest guards on her staff, so she did not feel unsafe, but she found herself strangely missing his blunt observations.

She lifted her chin and shook her hand, straightening up in her throne. There was unrest in her city. There had been an attempt on her life. She had heard the concerns of her people, and she could now begin figuring out how best to address them. 

Jessamine had people to speak to and a great many things to do.

* * *

The papers Jessamine had laid out before her were dense with detail, the writing small and close together. It took effort to read through it all with the necessary care, and she was deep enough in thought when the knocking came that the sudden sound made her jump. “You may enter,” she said once she had recovered.

The door to her office opened, and a familiar, scowling presence appeared and began striding steadily toward her.

“Ah, Lord Daud,” she said, relaxing immediately. She turned and nodded to the pair of guards behind her. “You may return to your normal duties. I thank you for your time this morning.”

The guards left, giving Daud a wide berth as they passed him on the way to the door.

Jessamine set her papers aside as she stood and moved in front of her desk to meet him. “I trust your talks with the heads of the Guard and the City Watch went well?”

“They weren’t pleased that I left them with a corpse for their interrogation chair.” He stopped a few feet away and crossed his arms, frowning at her. “And they tell me the Tower grounds are kept so open on your command.”

She closed her eyes briefly, bracing herself for the reaction. “Yes, that’s true.”

“That’s stupid of you.” He sounded almost disappointed, like a tutor who had come to expect better work from her.

“I know,” she said with a sigh. She turned to look back toward the wall behind her desk, where the curtains were pulled back on a large window overlooking the gardens. The groundskeepers were back at work today, and there was no sign that any sort of violence had ever taken place. “My father was always so proud of being able to keep the Tower open like this, letting the citizens come and go as they pleased during the day. He said it showed fearlessness after the Insurrection and a trust in his people, that it let them see the power and confidence of their ruler.”

Daud scoffed at that. “And it was just as stupid when he did it. A symbol like that is useless if it gets you killed.”

“ _I know_ ,” she repeated, shooting him a glare over her shoulder. She wasn’t a fool. Burrows had harped on for years about the security risks, and Corvo had never been happy about it either, though he rarely argued with her over it. But there was so little she had to hang onto from those days, and it was difficult to undo what her father held as a great accomplishment, even if she knew it was something that should be done. After another moment of thought, she firmly decided, “I won’t close the roads, even if I wind up gating the rest of the Tower grounds. We’re not at war here, and I don’t want my home so cut off from the city it sits in and the empire I rule.”

“That’s your choice,” Daud said in a grumbling tone, but he seemed to be mostly appeased. He let his arms drop and came up to stand beside her, following her gaze out the window. “Kid like that never should have got that far, anyway, even with the grounds open. Whatever help he had might have worked for him either way.”

Jessamine made a quiet sound of realization and reached for the papers she’d abandoned on her desk earlier. “That reminds me: I wanted to show you this,” she said, holding them out. “It’s the most current information I have on the households of all of Dunwall’s noble families. There doesn’t seem to be anyone who could be our Morleyan, but I’ve only gone over it all once myself. I thought you might wish to take a look.”

He took the papers from her, eyebrow raised curiously as he skimmed quickly over the names and titles and descriptions. “You were quick to seek this out.”

He sounded somewhat impressed, and Jessamine was surprised by how much that pleased her. “It seemed the wisest place to start,” she said with a shrug. “Unfortunately, the census is only conducted every few years, though I’m sure the Spymaster has more recent information on certain households.”

Daud tensed at these words. “You shouldn’t let too many people in your court know that your suspicions lie so close to home.”

“The census itself falls under the purview of the Office of the Royal Spymaster, and I have reason to consult that information many times a year. It would hardly be a strange request for me to make if I asked Burrows for further details.” She studied Daud for a moment, taking in the deep lines of his face, the rigidity of his shoulders, and gently added, “I certainly understand why you would dislike and distrust him, but Burrows has always done good work. His information could be helpful.”

Daud scoffed and waved a dismissive hand. “I wouldn’t bother. No noble here would admit to hiring a Morleyan, and even if your Spymaster somehow discovered who had, they’d have gotten rid of him by now. The kid who tried to kill you is a dead end. Hopefully his failure will discourage further attempts, at least for a while.”

Jessamine frowned at this but held her hand out for the papers. He returned them with a wordless grunt, walking past her to stand by the window and scowl out over the gardens. So much for being impressed. She carefully put the papers away and stared at his back. “Why do you think he did it?” she asked after several long moments. “You said that boy knew he would probably die, and he didn’t seem to have any personal hatred for me, so why attempt something so dangerous?”

“Desperation,” Daud answered immediately. “Kids like that are born hungry. They don’t have anywhere to go for help, so they start fighting and stealing and killing just to survive. Gangs take them in and teach them how to do it better, how to earn a living from it. The kind of coin on your head would be too much to pass up, even for a river smuggler without much blood on his hands.” He glanced over his shoulder at her, then shrugged and said, “Half my Whalers started out that way, street kids trying to find a way to stay alive.”

“Is that what you were as well?” she asked, with a curious tilt of her head.

He snorted and looked away. “It’s been a long time since I was any sort of kid.”

“Hm.” Jessamine crossed her arms. “I’m not sure you’re quite so ancient and wise as you like to act.”

That got a laugh from him, a low chuckle and a shake of his head as the last bit of tension left his shoulders. “No,” he admitted, “maybe not.”

She smiled, relaxing as well, though the sight of him above her gardens, framed in the wide window, brought another niggling curiosity back to her mind. She made an effort to ignore it as she moved back behind her desk, shuffling papers idly around but not yet sitting down. She remembered the way he moved, the things he claimed to have done when he headed up the most infamous of Dunwall’s assassins.

“There were always strange rumors about you and your Whalers,” Jessamine began carefully, giving in to her questioning mind.

Daud shrugged, still looking out the window. “Every gang with any kind of reputation gets those,” he said dismissively. “The Dead Eels all have gills and webbed toes. The leader of the Hatters is over a hundred years old. People like their monsters to be as monstrous as possible. Helps them sleep easier, I suppose.”

“I suppose,” she agreed, “but most of those rumors won’t have the Overseers hunting you as fervently as the Watch, at least not for as long as they’ve been chasing the Whalers.”

He turned slowly to face her, and she had to fight the urge to take a wary step back, pressing in against her desk. “Is there something you wish to ask me, Empress?”

Daud wasn’t actually all that much taller than her, which was somehow always strange to think about. As intimidating as he was, she often pictured him towering over everyone around him as much as Corvo had. It wasn’t until rare moments like this, when they were close enough for her to notice she barely had to lift her chin to meet his eyes, that she remembered otherwise. 

“You moved very fast when you saved me in the gardens yesterday,” she said, careful to keep any tremor from her voice. “You were at my side in the blink of an eye. Emily said it was like magic, until her tutor scolded her for telling stories.” She paused, swallowing hard, but Daud just continued to stare at her. “How were you able to do that?”

He nodded when the question finally came out. “I’m sure you’re very familiar with the Abbey’s teachings, given the privileged position they hold in your city.” He began pulling at the fingers of his left hand, slowly loosening the glove he wore. “You’ve heard them preaching about keeping the mind pure so the Outsider can’t take hold and lead men to ruin.”

Jessamine nodded. She was not a particularly devout follower, but the Abbey’s history was intertwined with that of the Empire, its ideologies upheld by the Crown. She attended their services, said the words required of her on the holy days, and she knew their teachings, by rote if not by heart.

As for the Outsider, well… she had heard enough of Anton’s drunken stories to know the Abbey’s beliefs were not the only ones out there.

“I suppose my mind wasn’t pure enough, because the Outsider took an interest in me many years ago, and he granted me… a gift.” Daud finished removing his glove. He held his hand up for Jessamine to see the strange, intricate black mark on his skin, and before she could react with any skepticism, he clenched his fist, and the design came to life in blaze of bright fire. 

She jumped back, eyes wide, smothering a startled yelp.

“The Abbey doesn’t care if the Outsider leads anyone to ruin,” Daud continued. “They only fear the power he can grant their enemies, a power beyond their control.”

He let his hand relax, and the blinding light died away.

Jessamine hesitated for a moment, then drew closer again, unable to deny the fascination she felt. She reached automatically for his hand, then stopped herself as she realized what she was doing. “May I?” she asked instead.

He nodded, and she took his hand in hers, running her fingers curiously over the strange markings there. The lines were dark and solid and flat on his skin, no signs of fading or scarring like she sometimes saw in the tattoos others wore, and there was a faint heat beneath her touch, a cooling of the brief fire he had shown her. The design itself was bizarre and otherworldly, but also… almost familiar. Not simply reminiscent of scrawlings glimpsed in Anton’s private notebooks, more something half-remembered from a dream. 

“This is what let you cross the gardens so quickly?” she asked in a distracted murmur.

“That’s one of many gifts granted to me by the Outsider’s mark.” Daud’s hand flexed in her hold. “Are you planning to turn me over to the Abbey as a heretic?” he asked quietly, drily.

She laughed softly, her eyes flickering up and away from the fascinating design for only a brief moment. “Of course not,” she said. “I’d likely be dead if not for your heresy. That would be spectacularly ungrateful of me.”

Her fingertips traced over the mark once more, then dipped down along the side of his hand, over his palm and then up again to the knuckles. His hands were rougher than Corvo’s, though she could feel the same set of familiar sword calluses alongside everything else. She wondered if Daud used a wider variety of weapons, or if it was simply that he was less removed from his street survival upbringing than Corvo had been after so many years at her side.

Jessamine realized with a start that she was no longer examining just the Outsider’s strange mark, and she dropped Daud’s hand quickly and stepped back. She cleared her throat as she turned away, pulling her chair out to finally sit back at her desk. “Thank you for telling me this,” she said, a bit stiffly. “I appreciate knowing.”

Daud said nothing more. She heard only the rustle of cloth as he settled back into his place beside her.

* * *

The hour was late when the door to Jessamine’s office next swung open, too late for anyone to be calling on her without a prior appointment or very good reason. She half rose from her chair, frowning, and Daud took a step forward, hand on his sword.

When she saw who it was, Jessamine relaxed and sat down again, though the disapproving expression remained on her face. “Lord Burrows,” she said, just barely managing to make it sound like a greeting. She waved for Daud to stand down, but he remained where he was, tense and scowling, that always simmering anger threatening to boil over. “Is there something I can help you with this evening? I had planned to return your census papers in the morning, but if you need them back now…”

“What? No, no, nothing to do with that.” Burrows shook his head sharply, and Jessamine realized that he was unusually harried right now, even for a man so high-strung on the best of days. “Your Majesty, it’s reached my ears that you’re planning to delay the implementation of the new taxes. That couldn’t possibly be true, of course?”

Her frown deepened. That bit of talk had travelled incredibly fast. “Your spies serve you well, as always.”

“There are times I wish they were less reliable,” he muttered to himself. He took a step forward, gesturing widely with his hands. “Surely you realize this is a mistake? The Parliament has already – ”

Jessamine stood quickly, her chin lifted in a display of great regal offense, and Burrows immediately fell silent. “I would ask you to consider your words and remember to whom you are speaking,” she said coolly. She waited for him to dip his head and murmur his apologies before sitting back down. “I am not overturning the vote; I am merely delaying its enaction. New information has been made available to me recently, and I cannot, as Empress, allow such drastic changes to happen without considering everything.”

“That’s perfectly reasonable, of course,” Burrows said carefully, “and if Your Majesty wishes, I would happy to assist you in your consideration, though I know it isn’t my place…”

“No, it truly isn’t. You know I value your input on a great many topics, Hiram, but fiscal policy is not one of them. I have advisors experienced in this area, and I trust them to do their work well, as I trust you with yours.” She laced her fingers together, resting her hands on the edge of her desk. “If there’s nothing else troubling you at the moment…?”

Burrows opened his mouth, then closed it again without saying anything. He dropped into a stiff half-bow and shook his head as he straightened up. “No, Your Majesty. Forgive me for intruding on your time so late in the evening. I’ll return to my own work, as you say.”

Jessamine let out a breath as the door to her office closed again. She leaned back in her chair, rubbing at her forehead and letting her carefully straight posture slip. Somehow even brief conversations with Burrows turned out to be the most exhausting parts of her days. She glanced to her right, where Daud was still standing stiffly.

He was looking straight ahead, staring toward the door with a clear, silent fury etched into the lines of his face.


	5. Chapter 5

It was nearly a full month before Jessamine set foot in the gardens again. There had been no decision on her part to avoid the place – at least not a conscious one – simply a barrage of duties and responsibilities that made such leisure time an even rarer luxury than usual. She might have managed to avoid it even longer, if she hadn’t spoken so highly of the beautiful blooms of the Tower grounds earlier in the year when inviting a Tyvian diplomat and his family to visit Dunwall again come spring.

It was well into spring now, and the diplomat had, of course, taken her up on her kind offer.

Jessamine was easily able to keep up the steady, pleasant conversation needed from her as they walked through the gardens, discussing the effort put into maintaining the grounds, pointing out her favorite plants and blossoms and the detailed stonework of the fountains. This was simple stuff, the show before the diplomacy and politics that would come later, and she could do it almost without thinking. But she wouldn’t deny the unease she felt, standing in the place where her life had so recently come so close to ending, though Daud followed close behind and the diplomat had his own guards along as well.

She kept her fear well hidden, winding down the tour and leading the diplomat to a shady alcove in the corner of the gardens, where a table had been set for tea and they sat down to continue their talk.

The diplomat was a good man and generally enjoyable company, but still she was relieved when one of his aides approached with an important missive from home requiring his immediate attention. He apologetically walked away to deal with the matter, and Jessamine let her careful mask of confidence relax. Her hands gripped the metal arms of her chair in a white-knuckled grip, and she had to fight the urge to crane her neck around to meet Daud’s eye and assure herself he was still there, watching over her. She wanted to be away from here. She wanted to be back within the high walls of her tower.

A shriek of laughter distracted her from her fear, and when Jessamine looked up, she smiled genuinely at the sight before her. The Tyvian diplomat had brought along his two sons on this trip, boys not much older than Emily, and they had sent the children off to play nearby when they sat down to tea. It was rare that Emily got the chance to spend time with kids her own age, and she was clearly delighted by the company and the opportunity to roughhouse. They had immediately picked up fallen sticks near the hedges and were still playing at sword fighting each other with them. Emily’s etiquette instructor would certainly disapprove, but the diplomat had laughed, and Jessamine was happy to let them be for the time.

Seeing her mother watching, Emily temporarily broke off from her playmates to run back toward the table. She stopped next to Jessamine’s chair and brandished her stick at Daud as though she were challenging him to a duel.

Daud snorted at this. He grabbed the end of the stick and pushed it forward, making Emily take a step back and bend her arm at the elbow to brace herself. Then he reached down to move her hand, shifting her fingers and changing her grip. “Now you might actually hit something,” he said as he straightened back up.

Emily grinned widely, running back to her playmates with renewed enthusiasm.

Jessamine shook her head. “If she puts one of those boys’ eyes out,” she warned, glancing over her shoulder, “I’m directing the diplomat’s complaints to you.”

He shrugged. “They’ll learn early where the power sits in this empire.”

She didn’t bother responding to that, just shook her head again and went back to watching the children play. She truly admired Emily’s resilience, the way she seemed completely unbothered to be back in the gardens, though the event had surely been just as frightening for her.

“Are you feeling well, Empress?”

She looked back over at Daud with a frown, brow furrowed. “Of course. Why would I not be?”

“You seem… uneasy,” he said, taking a step forward so she no longer had to strain to see him. He nodded toward her hands, which were still gripping at the arms of her chair.

She let go quickly, lacing her fingers together in her lap. “I’m quite all right, thank you,” she insisted. “I was poorly prepared is all. I’ve been so busy talking with my advisors over the issue of the taxes and dealing with complaints from Parliament over the delay that I nearly forgot the diplomat was due to arrive. Fortunately, it’s not a particularly political visit this time, and he won’t be staying long. I can keep my focus where it needs to be.”

“Seems absurd to travel so far for a garden tour and a tea party.”

“Then you don’t truly understand the purpose of the visit,” she said. “There’s nothing much for us to discuss in depth at the moment – we’re on good terms with Tyvia and have been for some time. This diplomat is here because I invited him, and it would be rude not to take me up on the offer. And of course, I invited him because it would have been rude not to. It’s all a part of the game we play.” She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms as she looked up at him. “Do you know that the mines in Tyvia produce some of the best raw metal ore in the entire Empire? We use it in construction and in the crafting of nearly all our military weapons. The island has excellent sources of lumber, too, and their naval fleet is quite impressive. A little absurd diplomacy is a small price to pay for maintaining our goodwill.”

He held his hands up and dipped his head in a show of defeat. “All right,” he said. “You make your point well.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

* * *

Two more days of entertaining, and then the diplomat was back on a ship heading north, and Jessamine could focus again on matters closer to home.

Her reconsideration of the proposed tax and trade laws had turned into a deep look at the entire financial situation of Gristol and the rest of the Empire. Meetings with her advisors ran long and often late into the night, squeezed in after everything else that demanded her attention each day.

As much as she loathed neglecting her duties while the diplomat was here, looking back now, it had been a rather nice break.

Jessamine waited until the door to her office closed behind her last advisor before she let her prim posture slip. She stretched her arms high above her head, back arched, then leaned her elbows heavily against her desk, letting out a deep sigh. She stared unhappily at the papers spread out in front of her. The sun streaming in from the windows behind her was fading fast, and she would soon have to turn on more of her office lights to do any work, but she wasn’t actually reading any of the words in front of her right now. She’d gone over them enough in the past few hours that she could likely recite them from memory.

“I’m truly not sure how to handle this,” she said, more to herself than to Daud, her only remaining company. He was always happy to voice his opinions, but he was hardly a financial expert and she expected no stunning advice from him. “I can’t possibly allow these laws to go through as written, but overturning them outright when Parliament has already vote– ” 

Daud’s head suddenly jerked up, staring somewhere over her shoulder, and he made a quick, sharp gesture with his hand that made Jessamine immediately fall silent, nervous tension pulling her up from her slumped pose. He walked carefully to the side of her desk, eyes fixed on that point behind her. When he neared the wall, he beckoned to her, and Jessamine quickly and carefully stood up and went to his side. “Stay,” he said gruffly, then slowly crept up to the nearest window.

His hand went to the handle on the frame, and then Jessamine jumped as he suddenly shoved the window open with great force, slamming it hard against something outside. There was a muffled cry of pain, and Daud lunged forward, leaning half his body out the open window. He struggled with something beyond her view for a few moments, and then she watched in shock as he leaned back in, hauling a struggling stranger into the room along with him.

“Pickford,” Daud said, sounding unimpressed. He let go of the man, who stumbled for a moment before regaining his feet. “I wondered if you might have survived.”

The man called Pickford looked up and grinned nervously. “Boss,” he greeted with a nod. “Damn, they really do have you living in the Tower. Thought you had to be dead. Seemed likelier than any of this.”

“You’ll know when I’m dead,” Daud said, crossing his arms. “The Void will make sure of that.”

Pickford grinned again, still looking a little uneasy. “I guess it would have been a lot harder of a climb to get up here.”

 _One of his Whalers, then_ , Jessamine thought, a bit numbly. The shock of this sudden intrusion left her able to do little else than stare, watching this interaction with her brow furrowed in some mix of interest and confusion. Pickford was a fairly young man with a handsome face, and he was surprisingly thin, gangling limbs seeming too long for his body. He wasn’t what Jessamine pictured when she thought of an assassin, not quite the intimidating, broad-shouldered figure that Daud himself cut. 

She shook her head. How strange that she could now so casually compare paid killers in her acquaintance.

Daud stepped forward and put a hand on Pickford’s shoulder. “Do you know if anyone else made it out that day?”

Any hint of a smile dropped from his face. “No. I guess Akila or Connor might be out there somewhere. They were the only other ones with a job that morning, but I haven’t heard from either since the attack. When I made it back to see the damage, the sewer entrance was collapsed, and the roofs were stained with blood. They had the place choked; I don’t think anyone could have got out alive unless they were in chains.”

Daud stepped back with a sigh. “No, I suppose not.” He closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed thoughtfully at his chin. Then he shook his head and pinned Pickford with an accusatory look. “And what fool job have you stumbled into that has you lurking around this window? Even you wouldn’t think to try killing an empress on your own, I hope.”

“No,” Pickford said with a startled laugh. “That’s a five man job at least and as many months to plan it. I know that much.” He glanced over at Jessamine and lowered his voice, though she was still close enough to hear without much effort. “They’re just paying me to watch her. Listen to her meetings, rummage through her papers, report back what I find.”

“ _Who_ is paying you for this?” Daud demanded. “What are they hoping to learn?”

Pickford shrugged. “Never met them in person, and I never asked. That’s not so strange for this kind of work.”

“No,” Daud answered with a sigh, “but it doesn’t particularly help me this time.” He scratched at the side of his jaw, thinking for a moment, and then he fixed Pickford with a look that made the man straighten up suddenly, as though standing at attention. “Now that you know I’m not dead, do you still call yourself a Whaler? Do you still follow my command?”

Pickford hesitated. “A man’s got to eat, Daud.”

“And if we do this right, your current employer will be quite happy to continue providing for you.” He paused to glance at Jessamine. “But I’m sure other arrangements can be made.”

She frowned at him, equally uncomfortable with being drawn into this conversation and with being volunteered for something she didn’t really understand. “I can offer payment for services to the crown,” she allowed reluctantly, “but I’m not sure what service you intend Mr. Pickford here to provide.”

“Pickford has a talent for information,” he told her. “Given time, he’ll figure out exactly what they’re trying to learn by spying on you. While he works, we decide what lies he feeds to his employer. When someone in your court acts on this false information, you’ll know who it is that wants you dead.”

Her frown deepened. “You believe it’s the same culprit?”

“I think it’s very likely.”

The alternative, she supposed, was that multiple people in her court were so aggressively working against her. It was slightly more comforting to trust Daud’s instincts and assume she had only one such enemy to worry about. “All right,” she said with a nod, “if you believe Mr. Pickford can assist in this, I’ll be quite happy to compensate his efforts.”

He turned back to Pickford. “There. Now you’ll have your bread on the table. Work to find out what you can for now. I’ll have more detailed orders for you next time.”

Pickford clenched his fist and pressed it against his chest in a strange sort of salute. “Yes, sir,” he said, and wish a surprising swiftness, he exited through the window with much more grace than he had entered it.

Jessamine moved to watch, curious, and managed to catch a glimpse of him disappearing from a distant rooftop, fading into nothing like wisps of smoke against the backdrop of the setting sun.

“I must say, he didn’t seem much like an assassin,” she said idly, giving voice to the easiest of her thoughts to process.

She heard a snort from behind her. “You’ve met a wide range?” Daud asked drily.

“Two, as of this evening,” she said. “I’d say that’s a wider range than most can claim.”

He laughed, that low, creaking sound that was beginning to become familiar to her. “Of those still living, I’m sure.”

Yes, there weren’t many quite so lucky as that. She let out a sigh, putting her hands on the window sill in front of her and leaning her weight against it. The sky shifted into hues of reds and purples as she watched. “Do you remember much about the Morley Insurrection?” she asked eventually, keeping her eyes to the Dunwall skyline.

“I’m not quite so old as to have been a part of that.”

“No, of course not, but I do know you have at least a few years on me,” she said, looking back over her shoulder. “I thought you might have some memories of the aftermath.”

Daud shrugged. “I was a child living in Serkonos then, so I can’t say I paid much attention to Gristol politics. All I remember is that we started getting a lot of fair-haired folks with strange accents moving into the slums around that time.”

“Yes, they say it was the famine that ended the violence as much as anything else. There wasn’t really much of a peace, despite what it said on paper.” She turned back to the darkening sky. “My father survived a great many attempts on his life, and they were nearly all from common people, the angry, displaced citizens of Morley and others who sympathized with them. He was well-liked by the nobles, of course, for bringing Dunwall back to glory after the conflict, but I know the attacks weighed on him greatly.” She paused to run a hand over her face and shake her head. “Now I do my best to listen to the common people, and my own court wishes me dead for it. I’m not sure what either of us was expected to do to avoid such hatred.”

There was a rustle of cloth behind her, and then Daud’s arm came into view, a cigar between his fingers held out on offer to her. 

She nearly laughed. There was an old habit she hadn’t indulged in for some time, the additional responsibility of raising Emily on top of her usual duties making it more and more difficult to sneak away with Corvo for a few hours of un-empresslike vices. She could certainly use a bit of indulgence now.

With a wistful smile, she took the cigar, leaned in to let him light hers and watched as he lit his own, and then moved over so he could stand beside her at the window. It was nicely calming, the taste of the tobacco on her tongue, the curling of smoke caught on drifts of wind, twisting over the lights and lamps coming to life across Dunwall as the sky above turned black.

“You can’t get everyone on your side, even with all the power you have,” Daud said, after the long silence had settled over them and become comfortable. “Follow your instincts and try to stay alive. That’s the best anyone can do in this world.”

Jessamine leaned back from the window and turned to look at him. She still hadn’t turned on the brighter lights of her office since the sun had set, and the dim glow of their cigars cast interesting shadows across his face. His advice was nothing new to her, though certainly phrased a bit more gruffly than usual, but it was reassuring to hear it from him all the same. She tapped her cigar over the edge of the window, letting the ash catch in the wind with the smoke. “Five men to kill me, your Whaler said?”

Daud shrugged. “Perhaps,” he allowed. “If it was very well-planned, and if one of those men were me.”

She smiled. “Then I suppose I’m safe enough for now.”


	6. Chapter 6

Her advisor read the proposal out loud in a strong, clear voice, and Jessamine stood at the window with her arms crossed and head down in deep thought. She nodded occasionally to the points she felt were well made, frowned at certain bits of phrasing, and when it came to its end, let the echoes of the last words linger into the silence for several moments.

Finally, she turned. “Well? What do we think of it?”

Lowering the papers carefully, her advisor gave a hesitant shrug. “I believe it’s as good as can be, working from the original proposal as we are. You would, of course, have more freedom in the broader ideas being presented if you started anew…”

“No,” she said with a quick shake of her head. “They’ve already voted to move forward with this proposal. To present something new instead of altering what’s already been written would mean the original goes into law and then must be overwritten. I have no time for that.”

“Then we’ve done our best. You must work to convince them from here.”

“And so I shall.” Jessamine took the papers back from him and laid her free hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for your assistance with this. I know it’s meant long work at strange hours for both of us, but I honestly don’t believe it could have been done without your help. Truly, thank you.”

The advisor shrugged her words off awkwardly. She imagined his work, steady and important but often ignored, didn’t tend to garner such direct praise or gratitude. “I’m more than happy to do my part for the Empire,” he half-mumbled.

“And you do it very well,” she assured him.

She walked him to the door, exchanging a few pleasantries, and then bid him a swift goodnight, knowing they were both eager to be done with this for a time. When she closed the door behind him, she was smiling with relief.

She returned to her desk to secure the papers away, then glanced up to catch Daud’s eye as he watched her from the corner.

“And what do you think of the proposal?” she asked.

Daud merely shrugged. “My talents don’t lie in politics,” he said, “but it sounded pretty enough to please your parliament, at least until they figure out what it means for their coin purses.”

“Hm. Then I suppose I’ll have to convince them to approve it before they can think too deeply. Not a very strict time limit, honestly.”

He laughed, and Jessamine let herself grin. She appreciated being able to give voice to her more snide and petty opinions now and then, to someone who wouldn’t react with shock or scold her for unbecoming behavior. It wasn’t quite the same camaraderie and intimacy she had shared with Corvo, but it was something, enough to keep her from going mad under the pressure of her station.

With a now wistful smile, she returned to her desk and opened the window behind it. She rested her hands on the sill and leaned out, enjoying the evening breeze. “I am hoping to have it all sorted before the end of the year, though. The usual delays of the Fugue Feast always cause more of a wait than I want before Parliament’s ready to sit again.”

“That doesn’t give you very long,” Daud observed. His tone was neutral, but it still somehow made her feel defensive.

“I know there’s a risk in rushing through this,” she hurried to explain, “but I don’t want any of my people suffering unnecessarily if I can have it resolved quickly instead. If Parliament chooses to vote me down, it won’t make much difference if they do it now or next year to the time it would take to overturn the unfortunate laws, but if they agree to my revisions, those can take effect much sooner.”

And it would be a relief to have the whole issue off her plate before the Fugue. She let that thought flit through her mind but did not say it aloud. It sounded so selfish next to her more noble and thoughtful reasoning, even if it was a much smaller piece of her motivation, and she found herself anticipating and attempting to avoid Daud’s silent judgment on the matter.

She was tired, though, from all of this. She was honestly a little amazed at how alert Daud always seemed to be, given that he kept the same hours as her. Longer even, she suspected.

The Royal Protector’s chambers were adjacent to her own and connected by a hidden door in case of emergencies or attacks in the middle of the night. She and Corvo had used the door often in the earlier days of their secret courtship, but she hadn’t opened it once since the day of his death. Sometimes, though, when sleep eluded her, she would walk quietly to the door and press her ear against it, and she nearly always heard soft footsteps, the shuffle of quiet movement, even hours after she’d dismissed Daud for the day.

Jessamine sighed and leaned back, pulling the window closed again. “I think we’ve done enough work for today,” she said. “Let’s call it a night and get some rest before the arguing begins.”

* * *

Burrows, not unexpectedly, was the first to present his arguments. He came once more to try and dissuade her from submitting her proposal, this time at a much more reasonable hour and with a noticeably humble demeanor. The change pleased her, though his words still did not.

“I understand what you’re trying to do here, Your Majesty. Truly, I do, and I admire such noble intentions. But coddling those who contribute the least to our society will do nothing to solve Dunwall’s problems.”

Jessamine frowned, but she kept her voice neutral and steady. “They’re not a problem to be solved; they’re my people. Citizens of this empire that I serve as Empress, the same as you or anyone else in this court. It’s not coddling to ensure they’re given the same fair treatment.”

“I fear many of your people won’t see it that way. People with strong voices and votes in Parliament.”

“I know,” she said with a sigh. “I understand the work it will take to convince them, but I do intend to try, no matter your opinions on the issue.”

Burrows put a hand to his chin, looking down at the floor as he briefly paced back and forth in front of her desk. “Very well,” he said as he came to a halt, “but if I may make one suggestion? Wait until the Fugue Feast ends to present your arguments.”

She frowned again. “You know I wish to do this quickly. It will take weeks at least until every member of Parliament manages to stumble their way back to court.”

“Yes, and they’ll be much more amenable to your proposal when they do.” He quickly held up a hand to hold off any disagreement. “Think on it, Your Majesty. It’s not just your poorest citizens who are unhappy right now; dissatisfaction is quite widespread. But after the Fugue… Tensions are released, grudges are settled, and you have a much more pleasant room in which to make your appeal. You know this is true.”

She did, and it frustrated her. There’d been enough suggestions for delay that she now had to consider it again, though it went against her instincts, but she was troubled to hear it from someone who wished her plan failure. She said nothing for several long minutes, staring Burrows down, attempting to glean the true motive behind his apparently sound advice.

When his humble and sincere façade failed to crumble, Jessamine shook her head. “As always, I will consider your words carefully before making my final decision. You know your perspective is something I value greatly.”

Burrows bowed his head. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said. “I only want what’s best for Dunwall and the Empire, and I wouldn’t want a rushed decision to put that at risk.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” she said, letting a bit of sharpness creep into her voice. She looked down at her desk then, picking some unfinished bit of correspondence almost at random from the stacks of papers there and beginning to write, dismissing Burrows with her silence. She enjoyed the long, empty pause that stretched on before she heard the sound of the door closing behind him, her pen not faltering once the entire time.

“You’re going to follow his advice.”

Daud’s irritable words came out more like an accusation than a question, and she kept up her writing for a few more lines before acknowledging them.

“Possibly. His facts are honest, if perhaps not his motives, so I must at least consider it.” She carefully set the letter aside and looked up to meet his eye. “There are significantly more laws passed at the beginning of the year than at its end. People are less angry, less eager to argue. It’s a fresh start, just as the Abbey claims. That could do well for my proposal, though I still don’t much like the idea of delaying.”

He grunted, an acknowledgement of her point, if an unhappy one.

She didn’t bother addressing the fact that he had also so recently questioned her hurrying on this matter. It clearly wasn’t the argument itself that bothered him. He’d better mastered his anger in Burrows’ presence, but she could still see it in the tense set of his shoulders and the deep frown lines creasing his face. She watched him for a moment, then opened the bottom drawer of her desk and picked up the fine, wooden cigar case hidden there. She placed it carefully at the corner nearest Daud, a distraction and a peace offering.

He only hesitated a moment before crossing the room to accept, and Jessamine smiled.

Though she teasingly blamed him for turning her back on to such an unbecoming habit, she had become the most common supplier for their shared indulgence. She wasn’t sure where Daud acquired his own cigars – bartering with the other guards and soldiers, she suspected, as he only really left the Tower grounds when on duty at her side – but they were of a much lower quality than she preferred. She didn’t think he minded the switch.

Together they opened the window and stood side by side over the rooftops of Dunwall, letting the smoke drift out in silence.

“I’m not so foolish as to not realize Burrows has his own purpose for wanting me delayed,” she said quietly. “Perhaps he simply hopes my own doubts will put me off the idea if they’re given time to grow – I certainly have plenty of them I’ve been trying to keep in check. Or perhaps he hopes some tragedy will befall my few supporters in Parliament over the Fugue, and I’ll have no hope of convincing enough neutral parties without their votes. I can’t possibly know, but I also can’t let that fear keep me from what might be the best course of action.”

Daud frowned but nodded, the anger now nearly all gone from his face. “Be careful,” was all he said.

“I do try to, though I understand if you might doubt that.”

There was a fleeting smile, and the shake of his head was almost fond.

Jessamine leaned forward, elbows on the windowsill, and turned her head to watch the way he held the cigar between his teeth, watched the twists and wisps of smoke trickling out through his lips.

A memory came to her, unbidden, of what it was like to kiss someone with tobacco on their tongue, that sharp and earthy taste, the lingering scent of smoke as it settled into clothing. Alone in a darkened room or out on the river under moonlight, that was all she knew, all that stayed with her after other details of those nights faded.

Something like guilt gripped her heart and twisted uncomfortably in her stomach, and she quickly closed her eyes and turned away. 

She shook herself and stood back from the window, leaning lightly against the edge of her desk instead. “Do you enjoy the Fugue, Lord Daud?” she asked, maybe a touch too loudly. “I admit, I’ve been wondering if such a thing would hold much appeal for you, given your usual lax relationship with the laws of our land, but perhaps I’ve missed an angle from up here in the Tower.”

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and shrugged. “It’s always interesting to watch the city try and eat itself alive every year; I don’t know if you’d call that enjoyment. People want to take their killing into their own hands for a day or two, so the Whalers never have much work. It’s not so bad to have a break, I suppose.”

“Do you know, I think I can actually understand that,” she said, a slow, wry smile creeping across her face at the thought. “I remember Fugue nights being quite a bit more fun when I was younger. Now I only ever seem to think of the work that comes before and after, and getting away from everything for a few days is the most appealing part. Sad, really.”

Daud flicked the ash from his cigar and turned around. “The royal family leaves Dunwall during the Fugue Feast?”

“Not always, but we have since Emily was born. I don’t believe that’s something she needs to fully experience for quite a few more years.” She hesitated for a moment, then offered, “You’re not required to come along, if that’s what you wish to know. Fugue is a time free from duties and laws, and that includes your own work. You can stay and enjoy the festivities in the city, if you wish.”

He took a long draw on his cigar while he considered this. “People know where you go?”

“There isn’t a formal announcement, but we don’t quite travel in secret. I’m sure most in Dunwall would have an idea, if they cared to wonder.” She honestly hadn’t ever considered that anyone would.

Daud turned back to the window, exhaled slowly. “Then I’ll come.”

She let out a sigh. She hadn’t realized she’d been dreading his answer, and relief flooded her now. “Emily and I will be glad of the company.”


End file.
